Pain Recognises Pain
by Mysteryfawdot
Summary: It is the end of Harry and Hermione's fourth year at Hogwarts. Hermione suffers from severe anxiety, and Harry is struggling to come to terms with the year. It soon becomes clear that they need each other to stay afloat.
1. Chapter 1 - Talks by the lake

If there was one thing that Hermione enjoyed reading just as much as books, it was faces.

She was good at it – especially when it came to Ron. Coming from a passionate, eccentric, tightly-bonded family, he had never had any reason to hold back what he was feeling. In some ways, that was good. Hermione knew how dangerous it was to repress emotions, especially when one had magical tendencies. It also meant that she could, to an extent, play to them – when he was cheerful, he was more likely to agree to Hermione's orders to go and get some fresh air out on the quidditch field, and when he was angry, to go to his dorm room and, as she liked to so tactfully put it, 'mull things over'.

It wasn't that she didn't like Ron. It was more that where Hogwarts was an idyllic country walk on a balmy evening, with dusty paths and wild plants whispering in the hedgerows, Ron was that pedantic truck driver who insisted on going down the 'back routes' with his fog lights on full blare.

It just didn't take long for her to have her daily dose of him. And, on the first day back at Hogwarts after the Triwizard tournament, she had gone up and over what she would've seen as her daily limit.

It was turning out to be a beautiful day at Hogwarts, despite the despondent atmosphere. Hermione and Harry were sitting side by side in the Great Hall with Ron opposite them. Beams of sunlight filtered through the grand windows, bathing Hermione's face. She turned to Harry. He still hadn't eaten a thing.

She looked over to Ron, who, despite the trauma of the other day, was cheerfully reading out sections of the Daily Prophet whilst shoveling a full English breakfast into his mouth.

"'Ere's one for you, 'Ermione,' Ron piped up, whilst chewing a piece of sausage. 'C'ever witches n wizards wanfed immefidiately by the Minftry of Magic.'

Hermione grunted her disgust. 'Ron, at least finish your mouthful before you speak. I didn't catch half of that'. She picked up her napkin and delicately dabbed at her wrist, where a piece of sausage had landed.

Ron gulped audibly, and repeated himself. 'The Ministry of Magic wants Wizards and Witches of all age groups. Must have either gained 'excellent' grade marks in their O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T.S., or are predicted them. So that's you, basically.'

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. She quickly glanced over to Harry, who was staring into his empty plate. His shoulders were tense, and his jaw was ticking. "How inconsiderate can you _be? _Did it ever occur to you _why _they want intelligent witches and wizards?"

Ron looked at her, and then to Harry, and back to Hermione again. He shrugged. _He really does have no clue, _Hermione thought angrily, feeling her heart rate rise and fingers beginning to shake. She took in Ron's expression. Eyes blank with a hint of a frown in his eyebrows, his mouth set in a firm, obstinate manner, the newspaper in one hand and a fork loaded with sausage in the other. She took a deep breath, and composed herself.

"If you may remember, Ronald, our friend Harry was recently part of tragic events which are surely going to affect the Wizarding World as we know it. _Voldemort _is back. But do you think that that's what people want to hear? No. Of course not. If they hire a band of wizards and witches who have no reason to be doubted because of, let's say, their intelligence, not only can they go round telling others that You-Know-Who's return is a lie, but they can also work as spies to collect important information for the Ministry."

Hermione's little spiel did not achieve the desired affect. Ron lowered his forkload and grinned, his face full of wonder. "Wow. It's no wonder they call you a genius, Hermione. To work all of that out from a little article poked in the corner. I think you should consider working there; they need people like you who always have their thinking caps on…"

"It did not take a _thinking cap _to work that out, _Ronald, _it only took bloody common sense. I'll see you two later." She angrily stacked her used breakfast cutlery into one pile, where it swiftly disapparated to the kitchens. She grabbed her book bag, swung it over her shoulder, and got up to leave. Although she desperately wanted to be alone, somehow, she was just as desperate for Harry to come along. He'd been with them the entire time, and yet he had not eaten a single crumb. He had become so gaunt recently. Hermione's heart ached for him and his losses. He looked up for a second, and Hermione felt her demeanor shift slightly, despite her pumping heart.

"Coming?" She softly asked.

He hesitated, but then started nodding. He nodded a farewell at Ron, who had forgotten the last few minutes of commotion and had already loaded his plate up with seconds, and was reading the sales section of the paper.

As the two left the hall, Hermione automatically took a turn to head to the Black Lake. As soon as she realised where she was going, she turned to Harry. It was futile. Despite his face being a whole lot harder to read than Rons', she could tell that he was miles away.

"Harry…" He jolted back to the present. "I-I'm sorry. I was just heading to the… Black Lake, and I just wanted to check if-if it wasn't too-"

"Traumatising for me?" Harry finished. Hermione nodded.

"It will be okay. Thanks for thinking of me. Are you going there because of your thing?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Yes. It's not as bad today, but then again, my emotions are all over the place. I just want to be sure that I've got it all under control."

As they started to walk again, both subconsciously picking up the pace, Harry turned to look at her. "You always have it under control. I've got faith in you."

Hermione smiled and lightly touched his arm as a gesture of thanks. What she wasn't expecting, however, was how the softness and warmness of it was going to make her feel. It was weird, but it felt like the most comforting thing in the world.

Harry had felt the same thing. As she'd touched him, his disturbed mind had felt just a little bit more at ease. _Bloody hell, as if I'm now going to have to find every reason to be close to her! _He thought to himself, smiling weakly at the situation.

As the pair stepped outside, they were engulfed in sunlight and birdsong. Dandelion seeds drifted to and fro, and dew hung like artisan beads on the long grass. Hogwarts really was the most beautiful place to be in the world.

It only increased in beauty as they reached the Black Lake. Despite its' unforgiving name, sunlight dappled off the greeny-blue water, sending a kaleidoscope of colours onto the two friends and the surrounding trees. Hermione pulled out a chunky knitted blanket from her bag, and the pair flopped down. They lay back for a few minutes, taking in the twinkling birdsong and the deep plops of water as fish jumped through the air.

"How are you feeling?" Enquired Harry dubiously. He'd been down here enough times with Hermione enough times to know how it went.

Hermione smiled. "Incredibly enough, not too bad. My heart's beating to the millions and I'm a little bit shaky, but I don't think I'm going to need more than one." She pulled out a tiny leather pouch from her bag, which she proceeded to unzip and ungracefully fish out a tray of tablets. Oh, how she hated living with such a horrible muggle illness. As always, Hermione read the instructions carefully (to which she received a 'surely you know it off by heart now?' look from Harry), and then popped out one pill.

After taking it, she lay back and waited for the effects to kick in. Of course, being in such a tranquil place helped her as much as the tablets, and, as she had now learnt from past experience, one without the other just really didn't work.

After a few minutes of silence, Harry cleared his throat.

"Hermione – what's it like? Having anxiety?"

Hermione sighed slowly, composing her answer. "You know how you feel right before a quidditch match, yes? You have powerful magic coursing through your body, making you feel like you're going to simultaneously fly into the sky and fall to the floor. Your legs feel like jelly. You could cry knowing that you're either going to win or lose. It's so intense that it makes you feel delirious. You almost want to cancel the match."

Harry nodded quietly, letting his mind take him back to the most incredible quidditch games, where Hermione had just described how he'd felt before them with fine accuracy.

"Now imagine feeling that all of the time. Well, not _all _of the time, but whenever your friends are in trouble – even just a tiny amount – or when you're about to have potions, or when I see you on your own, or when you wake uop and just _feel _that something is going to happen. Or before the… the Triwizard games. I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to bring them up again. I had to take four of those tablets before each challenge; I couldn't bear it."

A deep pain seared through Harry, but only half of it was due to the mentioning of the tournament. He was so sure that he'd been alone during that year, with no support, as no one who knew the pain. How blind could he have been?

Hermione, meanwhile was having trouble deciphering his expression. Harry had always been a tough one – after years of supplying the Dursleys with a poker face, she could only guess that old habits died hard. He was getting better, and she knew of times where he'd yelled or screamed or cried with laughter, but she also knew that they could all be counted on one hand. What was he thinking?

Harry rolled over to face her on his side and propped himself up on his elbow. There was so much worry etched on to her face, and he couldn't bear to see it there. How could someone go through life feeling like they were just about to go and compete against Slytherin in quidditch?

"Hermione. I had no idea. I'm sorry that I haven't asked you before – I mean, we've been down here countless times since September, I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do to help you, please, please let me know."

Harry's act of raw kindness brought tears to Hermione's eyes, and before she knew it, she had to turn away to blot them with the sleeve of her cardigan. Four years on, and it still got to her that people cared. But why, out of all people, was it Harry who felt bad for her? He had experienced pain and loss like no other.

But then, pain recognises pain.

Harry flopped back down, and silently laid a protective arm over her. It was a tentative move, but he felt Hermione's unspoken permission as she shifted slightly into him. They both let out an enormous sigh at the same time, which brought on light laughter. As Hermione lay there on the blanket bestowed upon her by Hagrid in the second year (and to that day, still had a faint smell of smoky bacon) with Harry's fingers drawing random motions on her arm, and the relaxed lapping on the lake onto the sandy bank, she felt her heart's panicked rushing slow down. Her body loosened. A fleeting thought crossed her mind.

Maybe everything would be okay after all.


	2. Chapter 2 - Midnight meeting

A/N: So yeah, there's kind of a lot of sexual themes in this. You have been prepared :-)

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Despite it being summer, darkness crept in quickly to reveal a crisp, starry night. Hermione was tucked away into the corner of the nearly empty common room, hoping no one would come too close and see what she was doing.

No quill, no scroll – Hermione was writing a letter with an ordinary black ball point pen and lined paper from a notebook she kept carefully hidden at the back of her nightstand. How else could she write to muggles who had no idea of magic? However, despite there being a fair few children who came from non-magical families attending Hogwarts, Hermione had never witnessed someone writing with anything but quills and parchment. It was difficult enough sending by owl, but Hermione got around the problem by sending letters back home for her parents to forward on to the recipient.

Hermione put her pen down to think. She hadn't got very far, but her brain was just utterly frazzled. Maybe it was time to call it a night. She still had time to complete it in the morning – the entire school was off timetable for the remaining week, due to the events of the Triwizard Tournament throwing students and teachers alike off course. Despite there being a few lessons still held in the day for those who were either extremely dedicated or extremely bored, about two thirds of the students had gone home early. Hermione had decided to stay – half because it was Hogwarts, but half because she knew that Harry had nowhere to go, and during the last few months, a strange sense of duty and protection over him had been awoken in her.

Yeah, it was weird. However, it was just probably maternal feelings.

As she pulled the thick covers over her body, Hermione came to realize that even though her body felt as heavy as lead, her mind was not ready to shut down. At all. In fact, if she just lay there, she could hear all of the independent thoughts running through her system…

…_I hope Harry's gone to sleep. He was so stressed out earlier on…_

…_I must finish that letter before the surgery closes for the weekend…_

…_I hope Ron's finished packing, considering his parents are coming to pick him up tomorrow morning to tie in with Arthur's meeting in Inverness…_

…_I hope Harry's okay…_

…_I hope my parents put my allowance in my savings account whilst I've been away this term…_

…_I wonder if Harry's having nightmares… - _

- That one jolted Hermione from her nearing state of sleep. Maybe that was why he had been looking so gaunt and pale recently! Had the poor soul had any sleep? He had started dozing off earlier on when they were on the blanket, which Hermione hadn't minded at all. She relaxed at the sound of his slow breathing, and had felt slightly triumphant when he unconsciously pulled her closer (it must've been unconscious – after all, he was her best friend and nothing more). Must have been those maternal feelings again, wanting Harry to be safe and all.

Hermione remembered how peaceful she had felt too, until suddenly Harry twitched and cried and was awake again. She had felt his heart pounding erratically into her back, and he removed his arm from her to cover his face.

_He needs me! _Hermione thought, although this was a lie to herself – she knew that now she was awake and coherently aware of those recent horrors, she would be finding it hard to sleep too - and she hadn't even been in that graveyard.

As Hermione carefully crept into the dormitory, she quickly surveyed the beds to see who was still there. They were all stripped with the linen folded back, par two. Only Ron and Harry remained; she could tell that instantly from the deafening snoring coming from the other occupied bed. Unsurprisingly, Ron's clothes and belongings were scattered all around his dusty suitcase, with nothing apparently having actually made it into it yet. She inwardly tutted, smiling. Although he had been a real prat that day, she couldn't help but feel a sisterly fondness to the boy.

Hermione was quickly distracted by a whimper coming from the other bed.

"Who – who is it?" Harry whispered in a panicked tone.

Hermione felt tears well in her eyes. "Oh Harry, it's only me, Hermione!" she replied tenderly. She crept over to the bed and crouched down before him so he could see. Not being overly sure why, Hermione felt the overwhelming inclination to stroke his face. She brought up her hand slowly, admiring how the pale moonlight from the window illuminated her skin. He leaned into her touch, and both of them felt a great sense of peace flood them.

"It's going to be okay, Harry," Hermione whispered. "I just wanted to see if you were okay."

"I haven't slept yet," Harry replied, speaking into her hand, which was lingering on his cheek. "Every time I drift off, something brings me back."

Hermione wasn't overly sure whether he meant just this night or since that fateful evening in the graveyard, but did not feel that it mattered at that particular moment. Without communicating, Harry scooched backwards and lifted his covers. Unlike many people who found the thick, plump duvets engulfing enough on their own, Harry had kept his crimson Gryffindor throw on the bed too. Hermione had taken hers off back in January, as even with blizzard conditions outside, she found that she was confined to summer pyjamas in the heat it provided. After all, it was the thickness of about three normal duvets back home. But still, she accepted the invitation and climbed in.

To say it was producing its' own microclimate in there was an understatement. Hermione immediately broke out into a sweat, but out of fear that Harry might need the extra heat (or comfort), she didn't ask him to remove a layer or three. For a very tense minute, both of them silently worked out what to do.

Harry was cursing himself. Why did he invite her in? He needed her, there was no doubt about that, but what if he didn't fall asleep and kept her up all night? What if he did fall asleep and kicked her in the face or something? What if he took all the covers in the night? Speaking of which, the covers were suffocating him; there were too many, but he had only become painfully aware of that the moment Hermione had joined him. She was practically radiating heat, and Harry wasn't sure how that was making him feel.

Hermione was turned away from his face; her own scrunched up in embarrassment. She was wearing her old, worn cotton pyjamas that had sea creatures on them; and not only were they a bit small anyway, but they were now unpleasantly sticking to her calves from where she was sweating so much. What was she going to do now? Was Harry mollified by her mere presence, or did he need physical comfort like he did earlier on by the Black Lake? Oh God, what kind of physical comfort did he need in a bed… _This is enjoyably strange, _Hermione thought guiltily. It felt good to break the rules, and it felt _really _good to be needed.

Harry was just thinking of how it felt really good to have Hermione in his bed. Not saying anything, he lifted his arm over her to resume the position they were in by the lake earlier on, but quickly lifted it again in surprise when he felt how hot she was.

"Hermione, you're practically wet!" He exclaimed quietly, but quickly blushed with embarrassment when he realized that that didn't sound entirely innocent.

Hermione caught on to his accidental euphemism too, and writhed with mortification. "Oh, I'm sorry… it's just… our - your bed's kind of really hot. Or really kind of really hot. Er, I've mucked that sentence up. Um-" – Harry put a stop to her babbling by pressing a finger to her lips, slightly twitching his head to where Ron was sleeping. Although it had taken pots, pans and bewitched wet flannels in the past, it would've surprised neither of them if Ron woke up. He had an impeccable talent at making situations unbearably awkward.

Without thinking what she was really doing, Hermione bared her teeth at him and grazed his finger. Although it was a playful gesture, Harry felt a rush of white heat travel down his back. He pulled his finger back on reflex, but immediately regretted doing so. He laughed silently to ease the situation, and to his relief, Hermione joined in too.

After they had settled down again, Hermione turned to face him, her feelings of awkwardness diluted. "Do you want to take some of the covers off?" She questioned gently.

Harry hesitated. "They… I don't know… this sounds stupid, but they kind of give me this weird sense of comfort." He'd slept with them all on for the entire year, and it would feel incredibly odd to not all of a sudden, especially when he was feeling so vulnerable. However, his heart rate had increased tenfold since Hermione was in the bed, and he could feel them both getting increasingly hot.

"No matter." Hermione pulled herself up, and without warning, pulled her pyjama top over her head. She was wearing a slim vest top underneath, but the sudden shock of a girl – and an attractive one at that - getting undressed in his bed sent strange but not entirely unwelcome tremors through Harry's body.

Hermione dropped it gracefully to the floor, and tried to keep her breathing stable. The tablet she had taken earlier on had more or less worn off now, and she could feel her muscles start to twist with nervousness. _What did I just do?! _She screamed internally. _What if Harry though that was reckless behavior and wants me out, but is too polite to tell me? What if I'm too scrawny? Too big? Ugly? _Hermione slid under the covers and tried to hide.

To her surprise, however, she felt Harry ease himself up and heard a kerfuffle of fabric, before a soft thud on the wood floor. He then snuggled back down in the covers and pulled her close, and Hermione had to bite her lip to stop a feral noise coming out when she felt that he was shirtless. She felt horrendously awake; all she wanted to do was take off her top and feel skin on skin.

_I'll wait until he's settled, _Hermione planned deviously. _I'll wait until he's asleep and then take my vest off. If I just snuggle a bit more under the covers, he'll never know. _Her body felt live-wired in excitement and anticipation.

And so she waited. Harry's breathing slowed, and his hands stopped twitching. However, during the hour she had waited, his head had shifted until it was buried deep into her neck and his arm was now clamped around her stomach. This, in turn, had more than helped to keep her awake, but she was now faced with the task of detaching him from her. She couldn't do it. The fear of him stirring in his sleep and moving away terrified her.

_Right. I haven't stayed awake all this time to be miserable that I never took a chance. _In one swift movement, Hermione removed her vest, frantically pushed it to the ground, and positioned herself back with Harry. She felt him twitch slightly, but, overall, it had been a success.

Meanwhile, Harry was still to properly fall asleep. He had been in some sort of sleep limbo for a good hour now, but was still agonizingly aware of the girl in his bed. It didn't help that she kept shifting closer and closer to him, and occasionally, when he'd been dragged back to reality by a memory or thought, he'd had to pull her in tighter too to make sure she wasn't going anywhere.

And then, this. _Sweet Merlin, what is she doing? _Harry groaned inwardly. He could feel every single blood cell coursing through his veins, and as she wriggled to fit back in the Hermione-shaped gap, her shoulder blades grazed along his chest several times. That did it. His blood started to take a detour down south. Forget sleep. He accepted that it wasn't going to happen tonight, and he couldn't care less. His whole body felt alive, despite not having rested for at least two days.

"Silencio," came Hermione's tiny voice, and suddenly and silently, Harry's bed curtains closed them away from the rest of the world. That was _really _it now. He couldn't take any more. _I can still act as if I'm sleeping, _he thought mischievously, before starting to nuzzle her neck. He groaned with pleasure and rearranged his hand so it was splayed lightly against her midriff.

Hermione tried to control her breathing. What was happening?! _Oh jeez, I don't think I even care. If this is what Harry needs, then I can supply it, _Hermione fooled herself. She didn't care to admit that a large part of her was thrilled, and not because she was being a great friend by helping out in a time of dire need.

Still under the impression that Harry was asleep but could be woken at any moment, she took on her I'm-asleep-really composure. She shifted even closer to Harry, and only froze for a fraction of a second when she felt evidence of how good he was really feeling.

_Oh my god. Oh. My. God. What next?! _Thought Hermione frantically, trying to remember back to blurry days of awkward PSHE lessons in primary school. _Do guys still get erections when they're asleep? _She wondered, but knew that that had never been covered in anything she'd attended. She presumed yes, in the end, for she felt her body was entirely made up of hot dread and anticipation of him actually being awake.

And then came the answer. "I know you're awake," Harry growled, pulling her under him in one swift move. "You need to work on your acting skills."

Hermione opened her mouth to answer in indignation, but was silenced by Harry's finger again. This time, she really did bite it. Hard. Harry winced sharply at the pain, but smiled devilishly at her.

"Is that how you're playing it, huh?" In one move he slid his arms underneath her, pinning her down with hard kisses to her neck. After scratching her back lightly with his fingernails, he moved his hands north and clasped both of hers in one of his.

"Granger."

Hermione drew a breath in sharply at the tone of his voice. Her heart, already proving decent competition to a racecar, accelerated further.

"Potter."

Hermione saw him grin in the balmy light. "Don't tease me rotten. What?" Panting, and annoyed he'd stopped, she wriggled her legs underneath him. Harry groaned into her neck, and proceeded to bite it.

Who was this boy, and who was this girl she'd turned into? It then occurred to Hermione that neither of them were children anymore, and as if this were some sort of ritual, she knew that she'd be leaving the dormitory in the morning even less of one.

"Are you ticklish? It's just I've got a spare hand…"

"Potter…. Harry, no!" Hermione squealed, which broke into peals of laughter as Harry attacked her right side. She quickly pulled her hands out his grasp, which had loosened in the mean time, and used them to pull him out of his kneeling position and straight down on to her chest. It was then that she remembered her discarded vest top. Oh. Oh well.

As their laughter died down, Harry slowly but strongly cupped her face and met his mouth with hers. It was long, and it was sweet. It didn't take long for them to both completely melt into eachother, and for their hands to start wandering up, down and around. As Hermione opened her mouth to sigh, Harry used it as an opportunity to deepen the kiss. Things were moving at an incomprehensible speed, and the two found themselves willingly surrendered to that.

Harry flipped Hermione over as fluidly as he could, and proceeded to put his weight back down on her. Sliding his hands underneath her, he lightly tickled her stomach before moving them upwards, whilst he nuzzled her wild hair aside and devoured her neck. Hermione was at an utter loss as to what do; her hands lay by her sides, curling and fisting with each delicious sensation. She tried lifting them upwards to touch Harry, but found it an awkward and humiliating angle. As she brought them back down, she had an idea. Hooking her thumbs around the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, Hermione began to slowly edge them down his body. It was a while before he noticed, and Hermione did have to stop at intervals to gasp at him forcing her head upwards so he could gain better access to the skin underneath her jawline.

Once Harry realized what she was trying to do, he slid off her and pulled them off in one quick movement. Hermione took this time to turn over and pull hers off too; she had no idea where her self-consciousness had gone, but it was definitely nowhere to be seen. She felt more like a Goddess, with her veins pumping love and fizz and electricity to every part of her body. Every. Single. Part.

Now both naked, Harry practically jumped on her, straddling her in a seated position on the bed. Their kiss was ferocious and frantic, and their hands never stayed in the same place for more than a second. Harry raked his fingers through Hermione's hair, piling it into a rough ponytail so he could explore the tender space below and behind her ears with his tongue. Hermione moaned and quickly thanked herself for the handy silencio charm she'd placed on the bed earlier, and allowed herself to be pushed back on to the bed. Leaning on his arms, Harry asked the question with his eyes.

Hermione stared straight back and smiled. "Wait," she whispered. "I want to do something first."

She carefully climbed out from under Harry, and moved him so he had his back on the bed. She climbed on top of him, making sure to take in every single detail she could of his body. Porcelain skin, jet black hair… Hermione groaned and planted a kiss on forehead, slowly working her way down. As she got to his waist, she peppered kisses all around his navel, and, just for the tease, went down further to kiss his lower abdomen. She looked up to find Harry breathing heavily, and realized that at that moment, there was nothing she wanted more than him in the world.

Hermione straddled Harry and leaned in to kiss his mouth, and it was all Harry could do to not take her there and then. _She is so close, too close. She has to move, I cannot bear this…_

"Hermione."

She jolted at the sudden use of speech – they'd been silent (well, not strictly silent, but definitely not making coherent speech) for well over half an hour, and she started to wonder what she'd done…. Or perhaps, not done.

"Is everything okay?" Hermione asked timidly. Harry smiled and leaned up to kiss her stomach.

"Everything's wonderful. But you're going to have to move or I might… you're pretty close to… you know. And you're being so bloody teasing. You're testing my restraint better than Malfoy ever has."

Hermione giggled, and it sounded like music to his ears. "Okay." She whispered. "Swap around."

The pair, now slightly light headed, swapped over fairly clumsily. They both knew that they had come so far and couldn't, nor wouldn't be able to go back. The energy between them was excruciatingly high, and as far as they were both aware, there was only one way to exert it. Harry looked into Hermione's eyes, raising his eyebrows in question. They were full to the brim with lust, and Harry was starting to believe he was going to have to recite potion recipes to distract himself. In return, she nodded. They hadn't cut straight to the chase; there had most certainly been a build up, and due to the high levels of either adrenaline or magic running through her veins (Hermione was at a cross road on whether to believe the muggle explanation or the magic one for that), she was too high to really feel any pain. Harry was good to her – he made sure to go slow, until she nodded her approval to pick up the pace.

It was heavenly, and Hermione couldn't have imagined it getting any better until Harry bent down and left a trail of wet kisses starting on her chest, taking a detour around her neck and jaw, and ending up on her mouth.

"Are you okay?" Harry whispered into her mouth.

Hermione closed her eyes as Harry continued to make love to her, and smiled.

"Marvelous. Is it okay for you?"

Harry half-smiled, and Hermione mentally noted that she'd never seen him do that. It was cute, and she officially decided that he needed to do it more often. And say that this was what they had to do for him to do it… well, there were harder tasks she'd had to do.

"I'm great. Just one thing… it's kind of stupid though."

Hermione lightly frowned. "I'm sure it's not."

Harry laughed. "No, I guess it's not. But you know that thing you did… like, the biting – grazing thing? Please, bloody do it again."

Thrilled, Hermione complied. She pulled him down by his shoulders and grazed her teeth along his throat, earning a violent shiver from him. She realized that when she grazed a bit harder and ended it with a bite, or a hard kiss, he tightened his grip on her and went a little harder. That was good. That was _really _good. Hermione continued doing so until Harry let out a little cry and pulled her face away with a firm hand to kiss her mouth, and then return the favour. That was it. He was pushing her right to the edge, and her to him. It was excruciating, it was unbearable.

And then, it was all over. Panting, Harry collapsed onto Hermione, who was also trying to regain her breath, and pulled her around so they were both lying on their sides.

"I don't know what that was but it was bloody amazing," Harry whispered quickly.

Hermione smiled. She felt the same, but was being consumed by a wave of sleepiness, none like she'd ever experienced when she was, well… by herself.

"It was good. Now finish it off well Harry, and let me sleep in your arms."

Harry opened his arms, and they both rearranged themselves until they fit perfectly.

"Good night, Granger." Harry yawned, and placed his head in the crook of Hermione's neck. It felt different this time; his head was truly heavy, and he honestly felt the weight of two days of missed sleep weighing down on him. Before he knew it, he had fallen into peaceful darkness, made incomparably better by having a sleeping Hermione in his arms.


	3. Chapter 3 - The morning after

A/N Thankyou for the kind words so far. I haven't written for years, and I feel like a newbie all over again! I'm determined to stick to this one, though. I'm liking the way it's shaping up. I want to publish chapters more consistently, but I have a busy few months ahead of me and i'd rather get everything out of the system now and give readers something to read instead of holding it back for the sake of time.

Enjoy. x

* * *

"Harry? Harry, are you in there? Harry, mate, I'm giving you one more minute to show you're alive or I'm dragging the curtains AND the covers back…"

That… that was a male's voice. More specifically, that was Ron's voice. Hermione grunted, not having fully forced sleep out of her system yet.

"Harry, what the hell is up with your voice?"

Hermione, still yet to open her eyes, reached out her fingers to stretch – and came into contact with somebody else. And that precise moment was when the previous night – and morning's - events all came flooding back to her.

_Oh. My. God. Sweet, bloody, Merlin. I need to get Harry up before Ron moves to interrogate and finds me here… _Hermione quickly adjusted the covers, and, to her horror, realized she had no clothes on.

_If Ron opens the curtains now, this is going to be one hell of an awkward situation… _Not remembering quite how long a weak silencio charm lasted for, Hermione snuggled right up to Harry's ear, and hissed frantically into it.

"Harry. HARRY! This is URGENT. I'm sorry to wake you. So sorry. But for the sake of anything ever, please pretend I am NOT here. I will be under the covers. Thank you." And with that, Hermione silently thanked Harry for insisting on having so many covers, and delved into the darkness.

She felt Harry stir and stretch. His leg accidentally knocked into her stomach, and to Hermione's horror, it didn't feel good. What was last night if his touch didn't feel like pure magic anymore? What the hell had she been playing at? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Hermione cursed her weak demeanor, and silently wished on every God and Goddess that had ever been present in the course of history that Ronald Weasley, of Ottery St. Catchpole, would _not _catch her in Harry Potter's bed.

From her position in the duvets, Hermione could hardly catch the conversation. Ah – if she just slightly moved over to the left, she could hear more coming from the opening of the duvet where Harry was situated.

"Hermione?" Harry enquired sleepily.

There was silence. "Um… no, Harry. Ron. You're in your bed. In the boy's dormitory." Ron spoke to Harry as if he was speaking to a confused three year old, and for some reason, that really grinded Hermione's gears.

"Oh. Oh yeah. Oh. Um, of course. Ron, what's the time?"

So he'd remembered then.

Hermione heard a rustling and thudding of various items hitting the floor as Ron delved into his pile of belongings to find his watch.

"Ummmm…" Hermione visualized Ron getting confused and turning the watch clockwise over and over again until he realized which way it was meant to go. "Ah. Yes. Quarter to eleven."

Hermione felt Harry tense at that. _Stop it Harry… please… _Hermione silently begged.

"Umm, Ron – weren't you meant to be packing to go to Inverness?"

Hermione heard a heavy thud, and could only presume that it was the watch hitting the deck.

"Shit! Yes! Oh, god, there's been a car beeping outside for about twenty minutes, but I presumed it wasn't me…" there was a cacophony of sound as Ron frenziedly chucked everything he owned into the case regardless of their value, and then a harsh screeching as he used his arm to quickly wipe everything off his shelf straight into the case. Hermione would've been laughing if it weren't for the situation.

Meanwhile, Harry was having a similar problem. Not only was there a girl in his bed, but also a naked girl. And not only was there a naked girl in his bed, but that naked girl also happened to be Hermione.

And not only was there a naked Hermione in his bed, but he was pretty sure that this naked Hermione had been getting to know him in a very carnal matter the night before.

Harry ran an aching hand through his hair and smiled. What a night. It was still coming back to him, and every detail was as valuable as ten hundred gallons to him. In fact, it was rather insulting to put a monetary value on the girl. She was something else entirely – not that he'd had much experience in the way of girls, but he already knew from various accounts of his friends that first times were, in general, not a pleasant experience.

_Who would've guessed it? _Harry questioned himself. _Hermione Granger. Hermione. The girl who is either reading, writing, or arguing with Ron. Or now, _Harry thought with a sly smile on his face, _fucking __**me.**_

"Harry? Is there any reason why your curtains are drawn?"

Harry stirred out of his little dream. "Er, no. Not really. Just was seeing whether I could sleep better if - " Harry froze. It all came crushing down on him. Cedric. The graveyard. The cup. Voldemort.

Ron was unfazed. "Ah yeah, makes sense. Well – did it?"

Harry started to shake. Hermione, having not only a knack for reading expressions like a book, had sensed in his change of character that he'd remembered. Calmly, she stroked his leg. _There is nothing to worry about, _she tried to channel to him. _Nothing. I am here. Ron is here too, if that is any consolation. _

Ron started to open the curtains, and Hermione remembered in a flash of panic that their clothes were strewn over the floor.

"NO!" Hermione cried in the gruffest voice possible. Well, it didn't sound like Harry's voice, but it certainly didn't sound like hers, which was a start.

Ron's hand dropped from the curtain "Uh, sorry, mate." He chuckled to himself. "Fancied sleeping in the nude, did you?"

Hermione froze. How had he seen the clothes? Harry had cottoned on too.

"What do you mean, Ron?"

"Well, I can't think of any other reason why you won't let me in. Unless you're hiding a _girl _in there or something!"

Harry felt Hermione's forehead press against his knee, and he knew it was a communication of relief and exasperation. Yet again, Ron was incredibly close to the answer, yet so adorably far. He grinned.

"Maybe it's either of those things. Or both. But in your best interests, you should probably stay behind the curtains for a while." Hermione could hear the smile in his voice, and was glad that Harry was providing them with some time to gather up their clothes, considering that she was naked and starting to suffocate under the heavy duvet.

"Mate, I know you're teasing. But whatever! I'm just going down to breakfast to grab something quick; I'm sure Hermione will be there to beat me with a book because I'm late or something. See ya in a minute." After the door had slammed, Hermione whispered "Colloportus," and the satisfying sound of the lock being turned sent them both into laughter.

"That," gasped Harry, "was ridiculous."

Hermione grinned. "That was too close for my liking." Feeling awfully self-conscious and exposed, Hermione twisted one of the covers over her top half and bent down to retrieve their clothing. As she was just reaching for her vest top, which was just an inch out of reach, she felt Harry's lips on her back. She jolted out of the way.

"Hermione, is everything okay?" Harry asked, his question laced with worry.

"Yes. Everything is fine." Hermione tugged herself forward the extra inch and grabbed the strap, and proceeded to shove her head through it. She was too frantic in her actions, however, and proceeded to get herself tangled up in the straps. She felt Harry's tender touch removing them from her face, and gently tugging the vest down her body. For some reason, his touch made her want to do nothing but jump out his reach; but she could not work out why.

"Hermione, look at me."

She slowly turned her head. Harry's face was brimming with concern and hurt. _Great. I've just hurt my best friend. I'm such a fool. _Hermione blinked back the tears and avoided eye contact.

"I don't know why you're acting like this, and I'm sorry if it's because of Ron just now, or because of… last night. Or this morning. I can't remember when it all happened. But seriously, it was amazing and I don't regret it, and… and neither should you. You're so brilliant, every single bit of you." Harry flushed red and bent his head down to fiddle with a loose thread on a sheet. "I'm sorry that you're upset, but I wish I could know why."

Hermione shrugged her top over her head, and pulled on her pyjama bottoms.

"Okay. Here it is, Harry. I just feel… I don't know. I don't do stuff like this, ever. It's not because I don't like you, that's not it at all. I just… feel so damn uncomfortable about it. Like I'm going to keel over with a panic attack any second, because I've done something bad. I feel like the whole damn thing causes more problems than it solves. Yes, it felt… good, but – "

"Stop right there, and admit that you have feelings," Harry interrupted.

"I – what?" Hermione was confused. "I do have feelings. You know that."

Harry sat up and began to dress himself. "I do know that, but do you realize how much you're trying to logically deduce this? Feelings can't be broken down into bits of information like you so desperately want them to be! You're denying yourself a life if you continue to repress how you feel and tell yourself you're not allowed to feel it."

Hermione felt her eyes prick. _For Gods' sake, not again! _She groaned inwardly. Why was Harry so good at turning on the waterworks? Was it because… he was right?

Harry paused after slipping on his bottoms and looked at her. God, she was so beautiful. Not in her looks – although there was literally nothing wrong with her appearance – but by the way she just was. Her posture, and how it changed when she was feeling and thinking different things. Her eyebrows, and how they formed a life of their own when she was talking about something she really felt emotionally. All this stuff about emotion. Harry wished that she could just let herself go.


	4. Chapter 4 - Reminiscence by the lake

The air by the lake was even hotter than the day before, and that was saying something. Settling down on to the blanket, Hermione breathed in the forest smell and dug her fingers in the earthy sand beside her. It was relatively cool compared to her surroundings, and she reveled in the feeling.

Shame the rest of the day wasn't looking so great.

Hermione had rushed down to the great hall as soon as she had washed and changed, knowing that Harry always took longer to get ready. It would have looked too coincidental for her liking if they had both arrived at the same time.

Ron was at his usual place, hastily scraping the last remaining bacon rinds onto his ketchup-stained fork, clearly exerting all his concentration on the task. He looked up as he heard Hermione arrive, and gestured for her to sit down in the space opposite.

"How come you're so late this morning, you little earlybird?"

"I overslept, that's all." Hermione looked down into her book bag, rustling around to pretend she was finding something. "'Was up late last night, trying to work out something I found in ancient runes."

Mollified, Ron accepted her answer and got back to the important manner of eating. He had seemed to have forgotten about being picked up by his parents, but Hermione found his presence an old, familiar comfort and was too selfish to remind him.

There was no way of getting around it – she had indeed left that dormitory in the morning a changed girl. Well, woman. Young woman. Fifteen was definitely the awkward age at where you couldn't get away with so many things a child could do, but also still had the prohibition in place of many… adult activities. Hermione was expected to manage her own finances, but had been told on multiple occasions by her father half-jokingly that if she were so much as to 'kiss' a boy, he and her mother would be onto her for 'tomfoolery'.

Hermione uncomfortably shuddered at the thought of betraying her parents. It was an awkward confliction inside – follow your parents and make mistakes in their name, or make your own mistakes and live with them like a thorn in your side?

Hermione looked out on to the water. A couple of large eagles gracefully swooped down, gliding a foot above the waves to watch out for fish.

It was all just so ridiculous. Hermione had been sure to leave the hall long before Harry would arrive, and had come down to her favourite spot for some solace. She hadn't felt so bad in ages – every time she let in the memories of Harry raking his nails down her sides, or thrusting in to her, she felt her throat tighten and horrible shivers wrack her body. It was just horrendous.

Fishing out her leather purse, Hermione popped out two, and after a couple of seconds of consideration, a third one. Dry swallowing them each, one at a time, Hermione leaned back against her book bag and waited for the effects to take place. The breathing usually took any time from a couple of minutes to ten to slow down (The 'placebo' effect, her doctor had said, and although Hermione was yet to find it in any of the books in the 'muggle studies' section of the library, her basic knowledge of the word told her that it was the mere fact that she'd taken them that was calming her down). Her heart, which at that moment was pumping furiously, would take slightly longer. In Hermione's experience, twenty minutes often did the trick. The writhing in her abdomen usually stopped around that time too; as did the nasty feeling in her stomach.

Nasty, nasty, nasty.

That doctor's appointment had been one of the toughest ones of Hermione's life.

Due to the fact that most ailments could be cured in seconds - or minutes -by Madam Pomfrey, Hermione had had no need to visit her local surgery par a couple of routine check ups in a solid two years. But after several trips to the hospital wing with feelings of dizziness, nausea and a heart slamming against her rib cage all because Harry had disappeared for an hour longer than he said he would be gone, with all sorts of magical remedies ranging from heart-slowing charms (which only made Hermione feel like she was living in slow motion) to dung beetle potion (which did nothing and tasted like pure dirt) producing no effect, Madam Pomfrey had been caught out. She hesitantly recommended Hermione to visit a muggle healer (more commonly known as a 'doctor'), patted her on the back, and wished her the best of luck.

So, at the beginning of August, a month before she was due back for her fourth year at Hogwarts, Hermione found herself sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair in the very minimalistic waiting room of Rosewilt Health Centre.

_Rosewilt, _thought Hermione unpleasantly, mindlessly thumbing through a tattered magazine. _What an idiotic name for a doctors'. Let's take something beautiful, and change it so it's dying! Rose wilt! For goodness sake…_

"Miss Hermione Jean Granger to room 8, please?" called a faltering voice on the speaker, dragging Hermione out of her daydream. Hastily slotting _The Happy Homeowner _back in the magazine rack, Hermione shrugged her tote bag on to her shoulder after checking the piece of the paper was still in there. Ah yes; it was.

After stalling for a few seconds outside the door to regain a sense of breathing and to gather composure, Hermione knocked politely on the solid oak and then stepped in. Her new doctor, a fairly handsome middle-aged man, turned away from his computer and leaned across to shake her hand. "Good morning, miss Granger. I'm doctor Benson; I'm sure you've heard that John has retired and moved to Jamaica? Not that I'm jealous or anything of the kind." He smiled broadly, and Hermione couldn't help but think of the posters in her parents' dental practice of random people grinning wildly, promoting various toothpastes.

"Er – yes, of course," Hermione replied nervously, taking a seat. Everyone living in her area was very neighborly, and Hermione's previous doctor had happened to have lived in Hermione's village all his life. Of course, Hermione was not aware of most happenings, as she spent the majority of her year in Scotland, and Hermione's parents preferred to write about their own lives in their letters.

"So." Doctor Benson laid an arm against his desk and swiveled round to face Hermione. "What can I do for you today?"

Hermione reached down and fished through her bag. "I've written down everything, which should make it somewhat easier to convey my problems, and-"

She heard the doctor laugh. "You speak the queen's English better than the queen herself! Where did you say you go to school?"

Hermione felt her cheeks flare up and that uncomfortable tightening feeling in her stomach. For one, she didn't speak _that _posh, she just used a lot of polysyllabic words; and secondly, she never said where she went to school. Her parents and her had managed to avoid logging it on the surgery database for years.

"Um – Gillenhoe private school. It's, um, really small. I board there. Termly. Sometimes longer." Hermione bent back up, and after getting over a major head rush, handed him the paper. _Gillenhoe? GILLENHOE? That's not even a real place… well it might be, but that would be incredibly unlikely… Oh, for goodness' sake._

Hermione dared not look at the doctor whilst he read her list. Occasionally, she heard the rustle of paper and a "Hmm, interesting," but apart from that, it was a solid three minutes and twenty-seven seconds (there was a clock on the wall above his head) before doctor Benson spoke.

"You say that you experience panic, nausea and dizziness over many things that seem to only cause a _somewhat significant but not entirely troublesome _sense of worry for others?" He queried. "Could you give me an example of things that have brought these symptoms on in the past?"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. _Quick, think of something MUGGLE RELATED. Oh, crap. Oh no. Um – _

_ The day of Buckbeak's execution? No…_

_ The day that Snape took Defence Against the Dark Arts? Um, no._

_ When you snapped your quill whilst doing homework at your grandmothers' and couldn't get another because that required visiting Diagon Alley and you couldn't go there with her because she doesn't know about magic and your parents were away for another week? – NO!_

"Any?" Doctor Benson prompted gently.

"Um - homework. Any homework." Hermione exhaled tensely, and gripped the handle of the chair tightly. The doctor noticed.

"What about making this appointment?"

Actually, yes it had. Hermione had been shaking so much that she nearly dropped the phone when she was talking to the reception. And coming here this morning had definitely been a battle of wills.

Hermione nodded. Doctor Benson nodded too, in what seemed to be an understanding manner.

"There seems to be a very clear cause in what's happening to you, Hermione. You may be pleased - or a better word would be comforted, I suppose - to know that it is actually a pretty common thing. Have you ever heard of Generalised Anxiety Disorder?"

Hermione frowned. It sounded familiar, but she may have read it on an advert on the bus or something. "No, not really."

Doctor Benson raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That's strange. It's actually very common for people your age to be diagnosed with it. Although it is unknown as to why, in my experience, I have had scores of intelligent, empathetic young people with too much on their plate come to me, with lists of problems very similar to yours.

I understand that asking you to take your life down a notch is probably impractical, so you have two options. One would be counseling, which I presume you know all about, and – "

"Um, I'm sorry sir, but I actually don't," Hermione interrupted, chagrined.

Doctor Benson frowned. "Hmm," He replied, turning round to fetch a flyer. "I could've sworn every school had to talk about it as part of government regulations."

That would explain why Hogwarts didn't, then.

Hermione took the flyer and flipped through it, immediately knowing that it wasn't the option for her. Sitting down and talking about your feelings to someone for an hour, who then got paid for the honour? It didn't really appeal. She could understand why and how it could work, but she had Harry and Ron for that. They just got paid in her doing their homework for them (which, in her opinion, was equally as valuable).

"What's the second option?"

"Well," doctor Benson replied cautiously, "it would be tablets. I would recommend these – " he swiveled the computer screen round to show her the profile of a drug, " – as you can take just one if you're not feeling too bad, and up to four if it's unbearable."

"I'll do that." Hermione smiled shakily.

"Okay." The doctor smiled and printed off a prescription form, where Hermione signed her name at the bottom. "They'll be with you in three days."

Hermione had always gone down to the lake to take them, when possible, to avoid anyone noticing and confronting her. She expected that half the wizarding student body wasn't aware of what tablets were, let alone anxiety. Harry had come down with her in the middle of September one day to escape Ron's deluded daydreams about the Beauxbatons girls, and it had only seemed natural to tell him – plus, she had started to feel pretty isolated about it, and Harry was knowledgeable about such muggle matters. She didn't mind Harry knowing. Harry was a good friend. A safe one. And – urgh. Hermione brought her hands to her face. He was definitely something else now.

"Mind if I sit?" Harry's voice floated loudly into Hermione's thoughts.

"Harry?" Hermione bolted upright, to see him standing about a yard away, holding a basket. He was wearing a grey, fitted tshirt with what looked like a new pair of jeans. He looked kind of sweet – it was nice to see him out of his uniform, for a change.

Feeling calm from the tablets, she patted her hand on the blanket as an indicative for him to come over. He complied willingly, and set the basket down between them.

"What's in there?" Hermione frowned, curiously lifting the fuzzy navy woolen cover that lay over it.

"More presents – sympathy presents. I'm getting them all the bloody time. Wizards from all over the country sending random crap, offering their condolences and commendation for my bravery because of…" The words 'Cedric's death' hung heavily in the air, daring to be spoken. Hermione nodded her head in understanding.

"Do they know why – "

"No. Or at least, they're ignoring why it happened," Harry answered curtly, looking out on to the lake. "But seriously, help yourself to anything in there, by all means."

Hermione knew that the conversation needed to be dropped. She rolled off her book bag onto her stomach and peered in, the basket at head level.

"Anything good in there?"

"Hmmmm;" Hermione answered in contemplation. "A LOT of cauldron cakes. I'm pretty sure those aren't ethically produced, either. Oh – a couple of liquorice wands, and something that looks edible but keeps moving."

Harry lay back, sighing deeply. "Alright; throw me a wand, would you?" Hermione picked up her own wand and pretended to lob it at him for a joke, and broke into laughter when Harry raised his hands to his face and yelped.

"I wouldn't really," she chuckled as she tossed over a liquorice wand, before taking the last one for herself.

After laying there for several minutes, Harry started to feel an overriding need to be nearer to Hermione. He shoved the basket out of the way, and taking a deep breath and wishing to Merlin that she didn't push him away like she had earlier, Harry snuggled up to her side. He felt her tense – and he was ready to move away, slightly abashed – but he then felt her loosen again, and reposition herself so her head was touching his.

"It's beautiful isn't it," Hermione said wistfully. "The trees, the lake, the wildlife…"

Harry nodded. It was, but he would've been happy to be with Hermione if they'd been in a dingy backstreet suburb. He wasn't particularly focusing on nature at that moment.

Not really thinking nor caring about what he was doing, Harry leaned over and pecked the top of her nose. Hermione giggled and turned her head away, blushing.

"Oh stop it, you!" she smiled, before reaching out to halfheartedly punch him in the chest.

"Oh no you don't," Harry laughed, before wrestling her back down on the blanket. They stayed playfully hitting eachother for a while, before Harry collapsed down on her and whispered, "Defeat."

"For you maybe, yes."

Harry tutted, smiling. "I'm pretty sure I'm on top."

"Well, I won metaphorically." Hermione smirked good-naturedly, making sure to look into his eyes. They were just such an interesting colour, and she hated to admit it, but they were definitely one of the things high up on her why-I-love-Harry-Potter list.

Harry said nothing, but Hermione heard his muffled laughter in her chest from where he'd laid his head. She could practically feel his smile tickling her, and even though it was just a figment of her imagination, Hermione's heart fluttered. A couple of minutes later, Harry rolled off of her, but pulled her to the side so they were facing.

"You don't have to feel like you need to hide anything you're feeling," Harry sensed the need to remind her.

"Managed to fit enough 'feels' into that sentence, Potter?" Hermione laughed, but took his hand and gently laced her fingers through his.

"I don't even know. Or care. I just wanted to let you know that it's okay."

"Well, thank you." Hermione swallowed apprehensively, but snuggled closer to Harry. It still didn't feel overly natural, but there was definitely nothing more comforting and calming than listening to the heartbeat of her best friend, whilst being held protectively in his arms.


	5. Chapter 5 - The plan

A little bit of blurb before this chapter!

Firstly, thank you so much fro your kind reviews. Review of the year however goes to Jakattck for describing it as a 'really good Caffe Latte' because seriously that was such a cool metaphor you had going on there and it made me melt a little inside.

I know that an issue raised was Harry and Hermione's age in this. This was something I really debated before going ahead with it. The reasons I decided to set the story at the end of fourth year was because I needed my backdrop to be after a traumatic event, and this seemed the turning point of Harry's life, where he went from knowing of Voldemort to now having to devote his life to destroying him.

The actual matter of age though. Bearing in mind that this was the end of the fourth year, Harry was due to turn fifteen in about a month. Hermione, however, would have been fifteen and a half, as her birthday is in September. That makes her very nearly the legal age in Britain. Harry, in theory, is kind of a little too young to be doing that kind of stuff, but I took it from the point that he's already been through a hell of a lot that will have made him wiser and more mature than his fellow classmates. He's witnessed torture and killing, things that would be traumatizing to anyone, let alone a fourteen year old boy. So it's only natural that he would seek ways to lessen the pain and fear, and considering it's a natural human desire and instinct, I don't see why seeking comfort in Hermione would be totally outrageous and out of the ordinary. He's going to have a pretty messed up and confused mindset, so he's going to do pretty crazy things in seek of comfort and relief.

So yeah! That's all, sorry for the month break. I've done a ton of exams, been travelling through the country a bit, and just working overtime. I hope you enjoy.

…...

"So." Hermione laid her newspaper down purposefully on to the table in the great hall, revealing a bowl of fruit and a glass of milk that had been hidden by it. Harry, sitting opposite her, raised an eyebrow. This sounded like it was going to be a 'Hermione plan' - a term he had coined in recent times to describe anything that Hermione suddenly sprung on to him that was a well-thought out and deduced mix of crazy.

"I'm leaving Hogwarts in a day to go back home. I don't think it's a very good idea – well, I think in fact that it would be abominable – for you to return to Privet Drive. I think it's awful that you have to go back there any year, but especially this- "

"Yes, I understand," Harry replied courteously, silently trying to prompt her to get on with the point – it sounded like it was going to be good.

"Well, I have this crazy aunt who lives down the road, in this cottage with a field and stuff, it's really nice actually, has a thatched roof and everything… ugh, sorry. I'm digressing. She's the one I sometimes mention, the- "

"-One who wears cardigans made out of crocheted granny squares in psychedelic colours?"

"Yes. Bermuda Tolhurst."

Harry frowned. "That sounds like a magic name."

Hermione smiled triumphantly. "Well, yes – this is what I was just going to tell you. I received a letter from my mum last night, telling me of how Bermuda did this absolutely insane thing. They were having afternoon tea with her, and she had an inkling that I'm a witch because of the whole going-away-to-school-in-Scotland-and-coming-back-twice-a-year thing, and so she basically asked my parents about me and told them she was a witch too, with the intention of obliviating their memory of the event if she was mistaken!"

Harry nearly spat out his tea. "But that means that other people in your family could possibly be magical too!"

Hermione grinned. "I know! It's terribly exciting." She paused, rethinking her way back to her plan.

"But here's the best part. She used to work pretty high up in the Ministry of Magic, according to mum. She worked in the part that's kind of the equivalent of muggle Intelligence, and she knows how to make and break strong defense charms and such. She also knows pretty good sources that keep her updated on dark activity- " Harry's blood chilled at that part – "which means that she already knows about you and knows a great deal on how to keep you safe. She's just about to go on holiday to Malaga, and has basically offered you her house to stay in until she gets back, which is in a month's time. I'm sure you can come and stay with me after that, as I will have managed to convince my parents by then that you are fairly harmless and I won't be running to the house every evening to get up to unspeakables with you."

Harry grinned cheekily. "Will you not be?"

Hermione threw him a short, steely look and pretended to swat his hand. "No, I have far too much homework."

"So you would if you didn't?" He asked hopefully, which received him a real swat this time.

"Listen, you idiot. She's written me a separate letter that mum attached with hers, which is what has told me all of this. With my word, she's going to put every charm she can on the house and also take the area off the records, so anyone in the ministry prying around can't find it which so much ease. She can also weaken your trace – not entirely wipe it off – but make it a little harder to pinpoint, and a little easier for you to use magic without it going off. What do you say?"

Harry swallowed the remnants of his tea, setting the mug back down on the table. "I say that you've already written back to her commending her on the marvelous idea, and that we will be there on Sunday."

Hermione deeply blushed. "Okay. Fine. You know me better than I thought." Quickly regaining composure, however, Hermione finally started to make a dent in her breakfast, having obviously not been able to focus on eating until she had got out her plan.

After a couple of minutes of silence, Harry spoke up. "Tell me about the house. And where you live."

"Well," Hermione started, looking up to the ceiling as she thought about it. "The cottage itself is very sweet. It's always stood out from the rest of the houses. The council couldn't get permission to bulldoze it when they built the rest, but now I'm guessing that Bermuda probably had a lot to do with it." She broke off to chuckle. "There's a lawn at the front, with a vegetable patch and some really nice smelling meadow flowers. You go straight in to the kitchen which is a little small, but still really nice. The window looks over to the garden which is massive, and she has a pool and everything. There's a living room with an entire wall shelved with books, and upstairs is a bathroom, study, and fairly large bedroom. It's a double."

Harry started at that. What was a double bed if Hermione wouldn't be allowed to sleep in it with him? He would have to work on that.

"The place where I live is fairly small, but it's alright. There's a corner shop and a park, plus a small library. I was the youngest person to ever obtain a gold membership card there."

"May I ask how one gets a gold membership card?" Harry enquired.

"Take out and return over two hundred books."

"And how old were you when you got it?"

"Six."

_That figures, _thought Harry lovingly.

"My only issue is that I don't want you to be in there on your own. I'm scared for you, Harry." Hermione looked at him, her eyes full of worry. "I don't want you to be alone."

"Then move in there with me!" Harry hopefully exclaimed.

Hermione half smiled. "I am working on it," she replied. "Hopefully it will work." And with that, she drained the last of her milk, got up, and beckoned Harry. It was going to be a long day of packing, and Hermione wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible.


	6. Chapter 6 - Repetitions of the past

Wisps of grey and black screeched past him, illuminating the consuming darkness. There was a deafening cacophony of voices whispering around him, tickling his ears, licking at his face, smothering his body. Then all of a sudden, a red light hot as molten iron hit him, impaled him, paralysed him -

Harry woke up with a start, gasping for air like a fish out of water. His heart was racing, and every single cover had been thrown off at some point in his frenzy to escape the nightmare. Blind beyond reason, he jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs to the common room and up the other stairs to Hermione's dormitory without even knowing what he was doing.

"Hermione!" Harry half shouted, half cried as he burst in and collapsed on her floor. She came to immediately and jolted upright. Seeing her friend curled up in a hysterically sobbing ball on the floor, she jumped out of bed and crawled over to him.

"Harry, Harry," Hermione whispered gently, enclosing him in her arms and rubbing his back. "Calm down. I'm here."

After several minutes that felt like an eternity to them, Harry's labored breathing subsided and changed to erratic, hiccupped gulps. Fumbling in the darkness, he clasped Hermione's hand tightly.

"Ssshhh." Hermione laid her head on his back, still stroking him calmly. A colossal wave of sadness washed over her as she tried to imagine the pain her friend had to bear every single day. "Get up when you're ready, and _only _when you're ready."

Slowly but steadily, Harry stood up from the floor and collapsed on the bed. Hermione carefully rolled him over to pull the duvet out from under him and throw it over both of them, before snuggling up to him in the warmth. They remained like that for a few minutes, Hermione holding him loosely in her arms.

"How are you feeling?" She asked anxiously after some time, circling her fingers on his shoulder.

Harry shivered. "It's going away slowly but surely." He cuddled closer so their foreheads were touching. They remained like that for a few seconds, before Hermione tilted her head and kissed him gently. She felt Harry smile.

"Maybe I should come in here more often."

"You've run out of time, boy. We're going home tomorrow," Hermione smiled, before pressing her lips to his jaw, but then retracted to laugh. "You need to shave!"

Harry reflexively raised his hand up to stroke his jaw line, and realized that in the trauma of recent events, he hadn't picked up his razor in well over two weeks. "Yeah, I guess I do."

Hermione raised her leg at a right angle to lay it over the boy, bringing them even closer than before. Harry turned his head slightly to the left, nuzzling in Hermione's silky hair.

"What are you doing?!" Hermione laughed, her voice muffled as she spoke into his chest.

"You smell nice." Harry smiled and breathed in deeply, feeling a wave of calm wash over him with each inhalation. He couldn't quite pin what the smell was, but it was some sort of delicate, floral fragrance with a hint of what smelt like burnt incense, along with an underlying smell of just human. It was a beautiful combination.

"I think I've found a medicine." Harry felt nearly calm now, and removed his head to look up into the darkness. "You're my portable medicine bottle from now on."

"Um, no!" Hermione propped herself up on her elbow and punched his chest lightly with her other hand. "You can't just smell my hair whenever you feel like it. I don't even understand what's so amazing about it."

"Never change your shampoo."

"I'll start charging you."

"How much?"

"Ten sickles a smell."

Harry burst into laughter. "No! Well, maybe if it was open for negotiation. Five sickles?"

Hermione giggled and laid her head back down. "Whatever. I couldn't take your money off you."

"That's how spending money works, Hermione."

Hermione propped herself back up again, pretending to be admonished. "I, Harry Potter, know what-" but she never got to finish her sentence, for Harry pushed her down and leant over her.

"Yes, I already know the story of how you wanted to be a banker when you were six," Harry smiled, enjoying watching a blush creep up on Hermione's face now he was adjusted to the blackness of the room. "Unless you have anything else to tell me…"

"Yes. I do. The only detention I ever received before Hogwarts was when I was eight and punched a girl in the face because she teased me for being the only one to get full marks on this test. My mum pretended to tell me off in front of the teacher, but when we got home, told me how proud she was that I stuck up for myself. So remember that next time you try to be mean to me!"

Harry couldn't help himself but to laugh loudly, which triggered Hermione to giggle uncontrollably as well. He could just imagine her putting her all into a throw and really quite injuring someone so well.

As their laughter died down, Hermione looked into Harry's eyes and tried to decipher what was going to happen next. She was starting to feel a little alive, like she had the night she had crept into his room. It felt delicious, but at the same time, highly frustrating. She attempted to rearrange herself from under Harry to ease some of her body's tension, but came across Harry's pyjama bottoms as she wriggled her hands free – to find the fabric strained tight against what she could only guess was a sign that he was feeling the same way too.

Hermione looked up at Harry, to find on his face a mixture of bemusement and guilt.

"You don't have to look so sheepish, you know." Hermione smiled, cupping her hands on his chest. Her body craved warmth and touch, and feeling his hot heartbeat underneath her fingers was simply divine.

"I feel bad… you're just so gorgeous. Like, all of the time. You never even try."

Hermione frowned. "Are you implying that girls have to make an effort to look gorgeous?"

Harry tutted before swooping down to give her a brief kiss. "No. I mean that in the morning, I get up, shower, brush my hair, maybe do something with it if I slept on it funny, shave, and choose my outfit to some degree of coordination to be pretty pleased with what I see. I'm fairly sure that you, however, could get away with wearing a bin bag,"

"Oh, stop it. You're lying!" Hermione tittered humorously and moved her hands to pull him down to her by his shoulders. "In my opinion, you look best with no clothes on."

Harry felt a switch flick on inside him due to her comment, and felt all pretenses and barriers he'd built to never let what happened the other night happen again crumble down.

"And your hair looks best when my hands are running through it," he growled before kissing her passionately. Things heated up incredibly quickly, and before either of them knew it, they were both writhing around to be as close as possible until either of them made a further move.

"Do it." Hermione whispered firmly into Harry's ear, her tongue practically flicking on his lobe. He groaned.

"I take it you mean – "

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

Harry pulled away from Hermione's neck to look at her in the eyes. They were brimming with something primal, something wild that trapped him and made him want to look at them all day. She was smiling, her lips parted slightly as she breathed audibly through her mouth. Harry could not resist but bend down and tug gently at her lower lip with his teeth, worrying it slightly until she gasped.

"That was bad. Let me do the same to you."

More than willing, Harry readjusted himself so he was lying by Hermione's side, and she turned over and resumed her original position of one leg over him. Hermione felt that it was more exciting this time round, though; The proximity of their bodies sent frantic electrical signals to what seemed like every cell in her being. She gently reached over and kissed him forcefully, whilst Harry squirmed irrepressibly underneath her. He sought some satisfaction by grasping her back and bum tightly, groping and pressing into every curve available. Without warning, Hermione bit down on his bottom lip, causing Harry to start out loud. She lightened her grasp immediately, but gently nibbled all around it, and then resumed kissing him.

Harry felt it was time. Pushing Hermione off lightly, he slid out of his pyjama bottoms in record time and waited for Hermione to do the same. She didn't.

Harry lay there quietly for a couple of seconds, watching the girl. All of a sudden, Hermione got off the bed and stood proudly on the wooden floor, deviously looking at the boy. She slowly slipped her tshirt off over her head, revealing her naked upper body, dimly highlighted by the moonlight from the window opposite. Harry felt his blood pump harder. Hermione then turned around, concealing her front as she slid off her pyjama shorts. Harry put a frustrated hand to his groin in effort to relieve some of the pressure, as Hermione was pushing him further than he really wanted to be.

And she wasn't even looking at him, let alone touching him.

Quietly but confidently, Hermione crept onto the bed and slid her leg over Harry again. She smiled in the darkness.

"Ready when you are."

Guided by his hand, Harry tenderly pushed into Hermione, his hearing alert to any noise she might make. She sighed softly, and Harry pushed in a little more. He waited again, but this time, Hermione wriggled down until Harry could not move in any more.

They began to move together slowly, silently judging eachother's movement to make sure they were in sync. Although Harry had felt incredibly excited just a minute ago, his anxiousness about hurting Hermione had helped bring him down to a more tolerable level. He was still worried that he would be on the edge way before her, but he knew that whatever the outcome was, he would make sure that she got a good part of the deal too.

Hermione reveled in the feeling of Harry slowly moving inside her, but felt that something was missing. She scavenged through her memory to try and produce anything she'd read up about sex – it certainly wasn't Harry, because what he was doing was good, but…

Ah, of course. Hermione inwardly grimaced when she realised. All of those nights in the dormitory, when the other girls were asleep and all Hermione could think about was Harry's bright green eyes, an a few inches away from her face if they were talking about something serious, and those lips…

Hermione blushed. She understood what the problem was now. Apprehensively, she reached down to cup her groin, and massaged it in small circles. Once Harry noticed, he made sure to watch her before scattering strong kisses on her chest.

"I can – try that. If you want?" Harry whispered in a strained voice, as Hermione increased in pace. She lifted her hand to guide Harry's down, placing it carefully.

"Go for it."

For several minutes the two moved together fluidly, until Harry felt an unbearable cramp in his hand and realised that his other arm had gone entirely numb from being under Hermione.

"We need to move" Harry whispered shortly, trying to control himself.

"Why?" Hermione frowned slightly.

Harry attempted to wriggle his arm, failing miserably. "I think you've killed my arm," he laughed, as Hermione realised.

"I'm so sorry!"

Harry gently rolled them both until he was over her, and the pair resumed. Harry knew he couldn't go on for much longer, but desperately fought back the waves as he continued to help Hermione.

"Jeez – okay, I'll take it from here." Hermione pulled Harry down quickly for a long, deep kiss before replacing his hand with hers.

"Was I doing it right?" Harry whispered worriedly. Hermione smiled, before slightly gasping as Harry picked up his pace.

"Yes, I'm… nearly there, shall we say. It's just I know myself better than you."

"I'll get there eventually," Harry smiled lovingly as he wrapped his arms underneath her and let the waves finally tip him over the edge. Hermione felt Harry above her, underneath her, inside her, and just plain all around her, and with that thought, fell with him.

After a minute, Harry moved off Hermione to lie beside her.

"Are you okay?" He lifted his hand to gently move some strands of hair off her cheek.

"Yes… I guess that's one word for it." Hermione smiled and snuggled in to Harry, who laid his arm over her and started to softly stroke her side.

"You're always full of surprises."

"I hope that's a good thing."

Harry nodded, smiling. "I'm going to miss you when I'm in that house."

"I'm still working on it…"

"Well, don't use this as a selling point, okay?"

Hermione laughed, slightly embarrassed. "We never talk about stuff like this, my parents and I. So you're all good on that one."

"That's a shame." Harry pressed his head into the crook of Hermione's neck, placing a little kiss where his lips touched her skin.

Hermione giggled sleepily. "I love you a lot. Good night."

Harry's heart flipped at Hermione's use of the word 'love'. It was a word he had rarely heard, and hearing her spell out the vowels in her beautiful voice laced with sleep was one of the best things he had heard all year.

"I love you even more."

"If you insist."

"I very much insist."

And with that, the pair fell asleep, both feeling a sense of happiness and comfort that no money in the world would ever buy.


End file.
